Beneath the towers of steel and stone,
Where whispers echo and shadows moan,
A creature stirs, born of our kin,
Its flesh our deeds, its bones our sins.

It wears a crown of golden lies,
Its eyes reflect the endless skies,
Yet in its heart, a hollow drum,
A tune that tells of what we've become.

Its hands are forged from labor's toll,
Its voice the cry of a fractured soul,
It feeds on dreams both lost and found,
Its breath the weight of the world’s sound.

In markets bustling, it grows...